


touch me (how can this be)

by doriangay



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21576544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doriangay/pseuds/doriangay
Summary: A collection of Macden oneshots based on prompts or requests!
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 29
Kudos: 124





	1. take me so breathless

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just making a single work to put all these mini oneshots, because i'm very aware of how easy they are to lose on tumblr 
> 
> this was requested by anonymous, to fill the prompt "in the snow" and "hold my hand"

**8:12AM**

**On a Tuesday**

**2010**

**Philadelphia, PA**

It hadn’t snowed this hard in years. Dennis stared out the window in dismay as the flakes fell, continuing to blanket the already thickly-coated street. The sun was just beginning to rise, glinting off the ice slicked roads, almost blinding him as he sipped his morning coffee, dreading leaving the apartment.

“Let’s just stay home today.” He called to Mac.

“What? Why?”

Dennis turned to see Mac stood in the doorway of his bedroom, wrapped in several layers, looking almost comical. With his thick scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, and his bobble hat pulled low over his forehead, Dennis could only really see his eyes, wide and inquisitive.

“Why? Mac, look outside! It’s _cold_ and _wet.”_ He couldn’t keep the whine from his voice, and he edged away from the window, aware that a slight draught was seeping through.

“But it’s snowing!”

“Exactly, Mac, it’s snowing. Which means we’re gonna spend the day inside like normal goddamn adults.”

Though he couldn’t see his mouth, Dennis knew Mac was pouting; he looked down at his feet in the way he always did when he was hiding something and sniffed nervously. If Dennis hadn’t been so confused, he would’ve been tempted to rush across the room and wrap his arms around him.

“Charlie and I are gonna go sledging,” he said, “I kinda guessed you wouldn’t wanna come.”

“Sledging? Mac, you’re both forty years old!”

“Which means we’ll go _way_ faster than we did when we were kids, Dennis! We weigh more! It’s science!”

Dennis put his coffee down and walked over to Mac, pulling at his scarf to draw him closer, “don’t you wanna stay in with me, baby? Drink hot chocolate, watch movies, keep each other warm?”

Mac gulped, “I-”

This whole thing between them was new, and Dennis wanted to take advantage of it as much as possible. It usually wasn’t hard to coax Mac into bed; all it usually took were a few careful words, a smile, a touch. Despite hating the cold, he’d almost been hoping the snow would take a couple of days to melt, giving them more time alone.

“Hmm?” He prompted, fiddling with Mac’s hat.

“I- I mean, snow only comes once a year, Dennis. We can do all that shit later.”

“ _Shit?_ Mac, I’m proposing a day in bed with me and you turn it down for some snow?”

Mac smiled and took Dennis’ hands, “Later, man. I promise.” He said, before letting go of him and patting his shoulder.

Clumsily, he turned around and began to busy himself with his shoelaces, double and triple knotting them until Dennis was sure he was going to have to cut them off his feet later.

An unease settled in Dennis’ stomach. Mac had always been stupidly reckless, but this was something else entirely; he remembered stories his mum had told him as a kid to keep him inside during snow days, tales of people who’d broken their necks sliding down hills, frozen off their toes, died of hypothermia. It would be just like Mac and Charlie to get hurt, given the opportunity.

He watched Mac straighten up and put one hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath before heading out into the cold hallway, and he realised he couldn’t let him do this. Not alone.

“Hang on,” he said, hurrying over to Mac and gripping his arm, “I’m coming with you.”

He span around, his face lighting up, “really?”

“Who else is gonna drag you home when you break your leg, man?”

Mac grinned and pulled Dennis in closer, kissing him warmly; he pulled away after a second, remembering himself, and looking nervously at Dennis. There was still a caution in the way he touched him, as though he was afraid that one wrong move would cause Dennis to freak out and push him away. To reassure him, Dennis smiled and squeezed his arm tighter, it was all he could do to keep a hot blush from creeping up his neck.

“What was that for?” He asked, laughing.

Mac’s eyes glinted. “Luck.”

  
  


Once outside, it became apparent that Dennis was going to need all the luck he could get. It was freezing, far far colder than he’d expected; he shivered, bundling himself deeper into the scarf Mac had wound around his neck.

“It’s so wet.” He whined, trailing just behind Mac.

“We’re almost there, stop complaining, man.”

Dennis snorted, kicking snow at Mac’s heels, “this is bullshit. We could be in bed watching Predator right now, you know that, right? You realise you’ve chosen this over Predator?”

“We can do that _later,_ Dennis. I promise.”

“There won’t be a later if we both freeze to death.” Dennis grumbled under his breath, but he quickened his pace a little so he could walk beside Mac gripping onto one of his arms for balance. He felt him stiffen a little under his touch, as though trying to give Dennis something solid to hold on to.

Mac pointed at the horizon with his free arm, squinting a little, “there they are!”

“They?”

“Charlie texted to say Frank and Dee were coming along too.”

“Great.”

Mac must’ve heard the trepidation in Dennis’ voice because he paused, almost making Dennis slip and fall as he tried to keep walking forwards, “we don’t have to stay for long, Dennis.” He said soothingly, “just a couple of times down the hill, and when we get cold we can go home, okay?”

Dennis rolled his eyes but nodded, sighing heavily. He was already cold, but he was also very aware that he’d asked to come with Mac, and it wouldn’t be fair to spoil his fun; mostly, he just wanted him to kiss him again, but that was besides the point.

“C’mon, then,” Mac pulled at their linked arms, gently guiding Dennis around a patch of black ice.

Up ahead, Dennis could definitely make out three figures, silhouetted in the morning sunlight; the shortest, who Dennis assumed to be Frank, was waving a plank of wood around, while the other two shadows were pelting snowballs at each other, occasionally slipping and falling to the floor.

“I was thinking we should watch those shitty romcoms later.” Mac said pensively, pausing to stick his tongue out and catch a single snowflake, “you know, just to, like, laugh at them.”

“That’s a good idea.” Dennis said, biting back laughter. He knew how much Mac liked those movies, despite pretending not to. It was the perfect thing to watch in this weather, though, and a little of the cold that had been gripping Dennis all morning began to thaw.

A small smile appeared on Mac’s face, “yeah? 

“Yeah!”

The two of them reached the rest of the gang in a matter of minutes, walking maybe a little slower than necessary. Charlie and Dee hadn’t stopped throwing snowballs at each other, and were covered in head to foot in powdery white snow; Frank was looking a little disgruntled, wrapped up in a coat just a tiny bit too long for him. Dennis wanted to laugh, but knew making fun of Frank’s coat would bring retorts about him wearing Mac’s scarf.

“You took your time!” Frank complained, waving the plank at Mac, “we almost left without you.”

A little flame of indignation lit itself inside of Dennis, but Mac’s calm hand on his arm quelled it, “Dennis wanted to come!” Mac explained, with a surprising amount of patience.

Dee threw a tightly-packed snowball at the two of them, laughing when it hit Mac square in the chest, “you realise he’s gonna be whining the entire time, Mac? Why’d you bring him along?”

“I am not!” Dennis whined.

Dee smiled. She didn’t have to say anything more.

The snow began to fall a little heavier, and Dennis blinked as it clung to his eyelashes; he turned to Mac, who was staring up at the sky, transfixed. Despite himself, Dennis felt his heartbeat pick up. He snuck a glance at Charlie, who had let out a small snort of laughter.

“What?” He snapped, glaring at him.

Charlie widened his eyes and held out his hands, feigning innocent, “I’m just glad you’re enjoying the snow man!”

It was Dee’s turn to laugh, but before Dennis could find a block of ice to throw at her, she’d snatched the plank of wood from Frank and run into the middle of the road, looking down the hill.

“Someone give me a push.” She said, lining up the plank of wood and sitting down on it, gripping onto the road so she didn’t slide away.

Dennis’ heart sped up again, but for a different reason. Jesus Christ, they didn’t even have a proper sledge! He stared at the plank of wood in horror, imagining all the traumatic ways Dee could get herself killed on it.

In his panic, he didn’t notice Mac letting go of his arm and running up behind Dee, at least, not until it was too late. He watched as he pushed her and she went speeding down the hill, letting out a loud whoop as she did so.

“Mac, holy shit! You’re gonna kill her!” Dennis cried out, his stomach plummeting as he lost sight of Dee. 

He ran to where Mac was stood and watched as Dee raced down to the bottom of the hill, only stopping when she tipped over and rolled across the road a little.

Mac looped his arm back through Dennis’ “nah, she always likes to go that fast! We did this last year, though... it was kinda more icy than snowy.”

“Yeah,” Charlie chimed in, “it’s way safer this year, Dennis, you can’t get, like, hit by a car if everyone’s too scared to drive anywhere.

Dennis turned to Mac, glaring, “someone got hit by a _car_ last year? Where was I?”

“No- not really, well, just a little bit, and he was _fine,”_ Mac said hurriedly, “you were hibernating in bed, man. You would’ve just gotten all mad about it, we thought it was best if you didn’t know.”

“And, look, Dee’s fine!” Frank said, pointing past Dennis.

It was true, Dee was trudging back up the hill, dragging the makeshift sledge behind her. She was shivering a little, but Dennis couldn’t see any obvious broken bones or gushing wounds. He relaxed just a little, leaning back into Mac. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all, maybe he’d been letting his fear of the unknown get the better of him, and he really did enjoy being out in the elements after all; he barely even felt the cold anymore, not when he was clinging onto Mac.

“Ready for our turn?” Mac asked quietly, 

“Our turn?”

Somewhere behind him, Charlie let out another snort of laughter.

“I’m absolutely not doing this.” Dennis said, as he watched Mac sit down on the plank.

This was about as far out of his comfort zone as he got. Going out in the cold was one thing, but sliding down a hill at breakneck speed, with nothing to break his fall and no way to slow down his descent? That was something else entirely.

“Please, Dennis?”

“No!”

“Don’t be a pussy, Dennis, your sister went down just fine.” Frank goaded, giving him a little push towards the plank.

Dennis frowned, “I’m not being a- I just don’t wanna die, that’s all.”

Still, Frank’s words had stirred him a little. He noticed Dee snickering and shaping a snowball between her gloved hands. He sighed, pointedly, and crouched down next to Mac.

“You promise I won’t die?” He whispered.

Mac smiled, “promise, man.”

Tentatively, Dennis sat down on the front of the sledge, looking down the steep hill below. He curled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, bracing himself.

“No, man, you _will_ die if you go like that, c’mere,” Mac took his shoulders and guided him gently back, so he was practically sat on his lap.

Flushing, Dennis looked at the rest of the gang, ready for them to be laughing again, but they were watching intently, nodding, as though this was the way things were supposed to go. He relaxed against Mac, letting him hold him securely in place.

“I don’t like this.” He said, allowing himself one last protest before the two of them went plummeting to their death.

Mac let out a little breath, hot against Dennis’ cold cheek, “here, hold my hand,” he murmured, offering his gloved palm to Dennis.

Dennis hesitated for a moment, but took it, feeling instantly calmer as Mac intertwined their fingers, squeezing his hand tightly.

“You two ready?” Dee asked, snapping Dennis back to reality.

Before Dennis had a chance to answer, he felt the plank jolt forwards, and Mac’s grip on his hand tighten.

Dennis shrieked, and his stomach dropped. The two of them flew down the hill, snow blurring his vision and making his eyes water; he could hear Mac yelling joyously behind him, gripping him tightly and resting his chin on his shoulder. In any other situation, he probably would’ve been bright red, but his entire body was numb with adrenaline, too numb for him to even register Mac’s legs wrapped around his waist.

As they reached the bottom of the hill, he realised he had no idea how they were going to stop, he tried to ask Mac, but tongue was numb in his mouth. Instead, he tugged on his hand, panicked.

Seeming to understand what he meant, Mac yelled something incomprehensible, before wrapping himself almost completely around Dennis and rolling off to the side, onto the icy road.

“Fuck,” Dennis managed to yell, closing his eyes as they hit the ground, sliding a couple of inches.

He kept his eyes closed for what felt like an eternity, resting on his back, Mac let go of him and tapped his nose insistently.

“Not dead?” He asked, and Dennis felt a warm hand on his cheek.

Dennis opened his eyes to see Mac’s worried face directly above his, “not dead.” He said weakly, smiling a little.

Mac returned his smile and sat back, offering Dennis his hand again, “wanna go again?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, I think I bruised my arm with that fall, actually.” He said, his voice wavering in that way that told Dennis he was lying. He glanced back up at the hill at the gang, who were waving and shouting at them, “wanna ditch this lot and go back home?”

Relief flooded through Dennis,”I thought you’d never ask.”


	2. whatever it is that's facing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Right now, Dennis was on the edge of a cliff. Mac knew this, because it was the same cliff he’d just jumped off, dive-bombing into the stormy ocean below. Right now, Dennis was too busy trying not to succumb to the vertigo to notice that Mac was drowning._
> 
> For the prompt "at the edge", requested by @honeyreynolds on Tumblr! 
> 
> *Title is from Famous Prophets (Stars) by Car Seat Headrest!*

**9:53PM**

**On a Friday**

**February 14th, 2017**

**Philadelphia, PA**

“Don’t you dare tell Frank.”

Those had been Dee’s parting words before she’d left for the night, slamming the door behind her; Mac had listened to her footsteps retreating down the hall, counting them until he and Dennis were left in dead silence, sat on the sofa together. Between them, was the RPG.

Dennis cleared his throat deliberately, “so, I guess it’s just me and you tonight, buddy.” His voice was strained.

“What about Old Man?”

“Oh, you know-” Dennis waved his hands, as though indicating that he couldn’t give less of a shit about him

For a moment, Mac considered suggesting they let him sleep on the couch for the night, but then their situation really set in - they were alone, with one bed between them, on Valentine’s Day.

Since he’d come out a few weeks ago, Dennis had barely spoken to him, or even allowed himself to be alone in a room with him. He’d avoided him at breakfast, drinking his coffee in the bathroom as he did his makeup instead of at the kitchen table like usual. At the bar, he was almost worse, trying and failing to act as though nothing was wrong. Everyone had noticed, even Frank had called him out on it.

Of course, Mac understood, how could he not? Sometimes, looking at Dennis was like looking in a mirror, or watching an old home movie; there was a delayed image of himself within him, always a couple of steps behind, always slightly out of sync.

Right now, Dennis was on the edge of a cliff. Mac knew this, because it was the same cliff he’d just jumped off, dive-bombing into the stormy ocean below. Right now, Dennis was too busy trying not to succumb to the vertigo to notice that Mac was drowning.

It hurt, almost. It shouldn't have, but it did.

Because, some part of Mac still needed his reassurance, his validation and acceptance. He had it from the rest of the gang, who had almost been overbearing in their affirmation of his sexuality, but Dennis had always been different.

After the whole mess with Trevor Taft, Dennis had been the one to slash his tires, triumphantly keying abuse into the immaculate passenger seat door. When he’d been exposed for pretending to date Dusty, Dennis had been the one to sit with him in the back office after, cracking stupid jokes until he’d smiled. When Mac had come out for the first time, and then gone back in, Dennis had been the one to insist they extend their holiday, just the two of them, and had booked a hotel room somewhere quiet, giving them both a moment to breathe.

But that was Dennis. There one minute, gone the next.

Mac snuck a sideways glance at him, “what do you wanna do tonight?” He asked.

Dennis started, as though he’d forgotten where he was, “I don’t know, man. I’m tired.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. It’s been a busy day.”

There was a moment of silence, as though the mere mention of the day they’d just had had unleashed something within the room, something that terrified Dennis, and left him rooted where he sat.

He shook his head, “yeah- yeah, it sure has.”

They drifted back into the awkward quiet, and Mac stared down at his hands. Dennis sniffled, as though he was in the beginning stages of a cold.

“Dennis,” Mac said suddenly, plucking up a little courage, “you know you’re my best friend, right?”

“What about Charlie?”

“He’s also my best friend, but that’s not the point, man! You know you’ll always be my best friend, no matter what?”

Dennis shifted uncomfortably, recognising Mac’s tone. They’d had this exact same conversation a million times before, only backwards, always directed towards Mac; it felt unnatural for it to go this way, as though Dennis’ words had been displaced, as though they didn’t quite fit into Mac’s mouth.

“Sure.” Dennis said, his voice sounding a little dry. Mac wanted to get him a glass of water, some honeyed tea, a bowl of soup, anything to make him feel better. But, he knew any movement would break the spell that was somehow holding them both in place.

He took a deep breath, “so, like, yeah. No matter what, man.”

Sometimes, his inadequacy, his lack of skill with words, burned a hole in his skull. He wanted nothing more than to comfort Dennis, to tell him that he understood, that he  _ saw _ , that they were reflections of each other.

He wanted to tell him about the cliff; about the fall and the waves below. He wanted them to swim together. He wanted to stop drowning. He wanted to not be alone in this.

“It’s Valentine’s Day.” He said, eventually.

“Yes.” Dennis replied, and the hollowness in his voice made Mac’s chest ache.

“So, what do you wanna  _ do?” _

There was a moment where Mac thought Dennis was gonna stand up and leave, leave Mac and the RPG behind and drive far away. Instead, he leant forward, rubbing his eyes wearily.

“I don’t know. I’m tired.”

Tired was okay. Tired, Mac could work with.

“Wanna watch a movie in bed?” He offered, gesturing towards their laptop.

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

A pause. Dennis sighed.

“We can’t do this forever, man.

Mac reached a tentative hand out and put it on Dennis’ shoulder, so light at first that he was barely touching him at all; when he was sure Dennis wasn’t going to pull away, he held on a little tighter, grounding the both of them.

If it had been weeks since they’d spoken, it had been months since they’d touched.

“Dennis…”

Dennis sighed again, even more unhappily this time. “Let’s just go to bed.” He said, the words sounding sour and awkward in his mouth, even though he’d said them a million times before.

“Alright.”

He stood up first and watched as Dennis slowly got to his feet, weary and unsteady as though he’d aged ten years in the past day. Mac almost wanted to backtrack, tell Dennis he’d sleep on the couch for the night, leave and sleep at Charlie’s place. He wanted to take a walk and get away from the sickly tension that was filling the apartment and polluting his lungs.

More than anything, he wanted to go home. 

Dennis brushed past him and took his pyjamas into the bathroom, another irregularity in their routine for Mac to try and understand. He took longer to dress than Mac did, leaving him to crawl into the cold bed alone, shivering as he stared at the bathroom door, and imagined Dennis stood in front of the sink, staring into the mirror, maybe rubbing expensive cream into his skin.

Back at the old apartment, he’d done that with the door open. In the morning, he’d used to let Mac sit with him as he did his makeup, chatting quietly as he fiddled around with mascara and foundation; sometimes, he’d even let Mac help him, teaching him about contour, and showing him where to put concealer. It had been fun, a little morning routine. They hadn’t done that in a very long time.

Mac blinked and turned away from the bathroom door as he heard the lock click, evening out his breathing and pretending to be asleep. He heard Dennis’ light footsteps behind him, and felt him crawl into bed, shuffling so close to Mac’s back that the two of them were almost touching.

“Goodnight.” Dennis whispered.

Mac turned around and opened his eyes. Dennis was right beside him, his face bare and dull; his hand was curled next to his head on the pillow. He looked old.

“Goodnight.” Mac whispered back. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Just as he was drifting off to sleep, Mac was sure he heard Dennis say something else under his breath, but he couldn’t be sure.

He never got a chance to ask him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one was short and melodramatic idk what happened fjkdsfhds, anyway, i'm @macdenniskiss on tumblr!


	3. he wants a finale (and i came prepared)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dennis laughed, “trust you to finally get caught doing something illegal here after we’ve graduated.”_
> 
> _“Yeah.” He said, sitting down heavily, almost crushing Dennis’ outstretched arm, “but I didn’t get caught. So it’s fine.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written to fill the prompts of "breaking the rules" and "puppy love" for tumblr user th-n-ghtm-n!
> 
> **cw: drugs**

**5:59PM**

**On a Wednesday**

**1986**

**Philadelphia, PA**

  
  


The tall yellow grass swayed hypnotically in the breeze, rustling in Dennis’ ears and making his nose itch in that awful way it always did around this time of year. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the hard ground under his back and the dry dirt beneath his fingernails. Opening his eyes again, he stared at the underside of the bleachers, trying his best to read any of the graffiti he hadn’t committed to memory.

It was late summer and he was full of dread. There were only a few weeks left before he had to leave for college, and everything was suddenly happening way too fast. He’d arranged to meet up in his and Mac’s old hangout spot one last time, for a final goodbye smoke. Usually, the entire freight train would get together on occasions like these, or at the very least Dee and Charlie would tag along. But Dennis was feeling overwhelmed, the weight of the world scraping against his spine like fingernails on a blackboard. He just wanted Mac.

Mac was late. Dennis had left his watch at home, but he could tell by the way the sun was low in the sky, turning the clouds a light, dreamy orange. 

A rustling sound to his left almost made him jump out of his skin, and he turned to see Mac jogging towards him, hair messy and tousled.

“Holy shit, man. I’m  _ so _ sorry - I almost got caught sneaking in!”

Dennis laughed, “trust you to finally get caught doing something illegal here after we’ve graduated.”

“Yeah.” He said, sitting down heavily, almost crushing Dennis’ outstretched arm, “but I didn’t get caught. So it’s fine.”

He was looking tired, eyes dark, beard slightly longer than he usually kept it; he looked so different to when Dennis had last seen him a couple of weeks ago, and his heart raced at the thought of how much would change in the months between him leaving and coming back for winter break. Would he even recognise him.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Dennis closed his eyes, “whatever, man. Did you bring the weed?”

Mac smiled proudly before rummaging in his rucksack, and producing a small baggie of weed, alongside rolling paper, cups, and a bottle of something expensive looking.

“Champagne,” he said sheepishly, handing it to Dennis, “it was a bitch to lift, man, but I thought, since this might be the last time we-”

Dennis went to tell Mac off for putting himself in danger like that, but all that came out of his mouth was a choking sound. It would have been so easy for him to ask Dennis to sneak a bottle of champagne from home, it wasn’t like his parents kept the stuff under lock and key, but Mac had stolen this for  _ him. _

“Thanks, man.” He managed to say, avoiding Mac’s gaze.

Mac smiled, “it’s fine, Den! I wanted to give you a proper sendoff, y’know?” He was busy rolling a messy joint, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration.

“A sendoff? Christ, Mac, I’m not dying!”

“But you’re leaving.”

The sadness in Mac’s voice was more apparent now, and the hole in Dennis’ chest grew just a little bit deeper. There was an implication in all of this - a missing word at the end of Mac’s sentence that neither of them were able to say. “You’re leaving  _ me.” _

Dennis was quiet for a moment, before he sat up and curled his legs up to his chest, watching as Mac lit the blunt. He took the first hit, as he always did, and Dennis watched as he inhaled, staring at his lips, his cheeks, his throat. Then he exhaled a plume of sweet, cloying smoke and the spell was broken.

“Give that here,” Dennis said, and Mac passed the joint, his fingers brushing against Dennis’ a little too deliberately for it to have been an accident.

Dennis mirrored Mac, sucking the smoke gently into his lungs, lowering his eyelashes on his cheeks as he tried to look cool, or seductive, or whatever it was that he was supposed to be in that moment. He coughed a little, spluttering as Mac watched in amusement; still, it was smoother than Mac’s usual shitty skunk, and Dennis suspected he’d gotten it specifically for this evening.

“Pussy.” Mac laughed, gently picking the joint from Dennis’ fingers, as though he was worried he’d drop it.

“I have weak lungs, Mac. You know this.” It was hard to keep the hurt out of his voice, but Mac’s fond smile soon healed the wound, and he lay back down on the dry grass, staring up at the bleachers again.

Mac lay down next to him, so close that their shoulders were touching, and Dennis could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against his arm.

He took another hit before turning his head towards Dennis, “hey, Den, I’ve been thinking…”

“Hm?”

“Maybe, when you go up to Penn, I can come and visit you. Like, if your roommate isn’t a piece of shit I can sleep on your floor, or even in the hallway, man, I don’t mind-”

It was as though Mac had just gotten down on one knee; Dennis’ heart stopped in his chest and he rolled over onto his side, so the two of them were nose to nose. “You’d do that?” He asked.

“Sure, I mean, I wouldn’t be able to come like  _ every  _ weekend, ‘cos the bus up to Penn costs a ton of money, but I still wanna-”

He didn’t get to finish his thought, because Dennis pulled him into a kiss, sweet and gentle and full of everything he didn’t know how to say. Mac’s lips were rough like always, despite Dennis begging him to use chapstick, and it was a moment before he returned the kiss, as though he’d been surprised by it. Within seconds, though, he was gently cupping Dennis face with one hand, leaning in closer and curving his lips upwards into a smile.

Dennis pulled away, carefully, letting Mac’s hand rest on his cheek, “fuck my roommate, you can sleep wherever you like, man.”

The smile on Mac’s face grew brighter, and he shifted his hand to run his fingers through Dennis’ hair. This was the most at home Dennis had felt all summer.

“Do you want the champagne?” Mac asked, peeling away from Dennis just enough to take another hit from the joint; Dennis held out his hand impatiently and Mac passed it to him, rolling over to get the bottle and glasses.

Dennis was beginning to feel a little more relaxed now, his tolerance lowered after barely smoking all summer, and the sight of Mac rolling around on the floor made him giggle a little.

“Here,” Mac passed him a paper cup, “do you have a bottle opener?”

“A bo- Mac, you stole a bottle of champagne and didn’t think to grab a bottle opener?”

Mac pouted, “I thought you might’ve brought one with you, since you’re all rich and shit.” He said, turning the bottle over in his hands, as though there might be some secret way of opening it, a little tab that said “pull here!”

The pout on Mac’s face was just about too much for Dennis, he closed his eyes and laughed again, “just smash it against the bleachers, man, I don’t give a shit. We can drink it from the floor like dogs.”

“That doesn’t sound hygienic.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Dennis asked, quirking his eyebrows at Mac, who still wasn’t looking at him.

He sat for a moment, lost in thought, before his eyes lit up, “I have my knife!”

“Oh!” Dennis sat upright again, “that could work, man!”

Mac scrabbled around in his rucksack for his pocket knife, before producing it; in all the years Dennis had known him, he’d never once used the knife for anything productive. In fact, its presence often made Dennis feel more nervous than protected, since he knew Mac had no idea how to use it. He could hardly believe Mac’s insistence on carrying the thing around was finally paying off.

Mac nicked the foil around the cork with the tip of the knife, glancing up at Dennis as he did so, as though checking to see if he was impressed; he then unwrapped it and stared at the cork for a long while.

“I think you just kinda… stab at it, right?” Dennis said quietly, his head pleasantly fuzzy now, “and the cork will pop out?”

“I was gonna chop it up and push it down.” Mac said thoughtfully, “then we can fish it out when we pour.”

“Gross.”

“ _ You’re  _ gross,” Mac rebutted weakly, but he handed Dennis the bottle, snatching the joint from his fingers, “why don’t you have a go first?”

Dennis rolled his eyes and stabbed at the cork, twisting the knife and pulling it out with a loud pop; Mac practically clapped, looking starstruck.

“See?” He said, taking Mac’s cup and pouring him a generous amount, “I was right, like always.”

“Like always.” Mac agreed, though Dennis could see him holding back laughter as he took his cup from Dennis.

A little wave of nostalgia hit Dennis square in the chest - even if Mac visited him every couple of weeks in Penn, it wouldn’t be enough. In High School, they’d smoked together every day, spent hours sat in silence in Mac’s bedroom, drinking or watching TV. Without Mac around, he was going to have to relearn loneliness. 

“Hey,” Mac shuffled in closer, bumping his first gently against Dennis’ cheek, “what’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell that to your face.”

Dennis sighed and took a sip of champagne, wincing as it hit his tongue - as much as he hated to admit it, he still hated the taste. “I just don’t want summer to end, y’know, man?” He said, his voice wavering just enough for Mac to know what he meant.

“Let’s make a pact,” Mac said, chugging his champagne and throwing his cup to the floor, “a pact will make you feel better.”

“Mac-”

“How about,” he paused, his face flickering nervously, “if you’re not sick of me by the time you graduate, we get an apartment together. Just you and me, somewhere in Philly.”

“You’d be a terrible roommate.” Dennis laughed, but a warmth settled somewhere deep in his chest. He realised, with horror, that he was blushing.

Mac smiled, “yeah? Well, you have four years to make up your mind, man.”

Coming from Mac, this meant something. Neither of them ever talked about what was happening between them; as far as Mac was concerned, Dennis only kissed him because he was bored and Mac was a better kisser than Maureen - as far as Dennis was concerned, Mac only kissed Dennis because he’d done some mental gymnastics to convince himself that it wasn’t gay.

But there was something of a proposal about this, about wanting to move in with your best friend who you sometimes fooled around with. Something a little disarming.

A warm breeze ruffled Dennis’ hair, making him close his eyes and breathe deeply, “consider it a pact.” He said, sure he was going to regret it.

It was the best pact he ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading! idk what this is but im tender and lov them :( im macdenniskiss on tumblr!


	4. i loved you then, i love you now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was like he was underwater, trapped beneath a thick layer of ice, and Mac was stood above him, looking down. It was like drowning and knowing that you can’t save yourself alone, but also knowing that there is no way you can call for help. It was like any number of metaphors, none of which Dennis had been able to perfect in his head, none quite capturing the specific agony of it all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI, okay, it's been a while since i caught up with requests, huh? i'm really sorry about that :( this one is for an anon, though! based off the prompt "tongue tied" and "with you" with a request to do post s14 macden which is... honestly the ideal dynamic fkjdsfhskd
> 
> _title is from tongue tied by grouplove, because i couldn't resist_
> 
> content warnings 
> 
> * references to disordered eating 
> 
> * general mental health discussions

**9:20PM**

**On a Tuesday**

**November 2019**

**Philadelphia, PA**

Tuesday night was movie night

Dennis rubbed his hands together, trying to create some kind of warmth through friction; it wasn’t enough, it never was, but it managed to tide him over a little while he stared into the grimy window of the chip shop. As he squinted through the glass, he could just about see Mac collecting a bag of food and making his last remarks to the cashier, thanking him, looking like he might be flirting a little. That didn’t bother Dennis. Not one bit.

As Mac turned to leave, he caught sight of Dennis staring at him - he paused, just for a second, before his face broke into a smile and he waved, almost dropping the food. Dennis laughed, the inside of his mouth turning to ice the second he opened it.

Things had been weird between them.

No, that wasn’t right: things had been different between them. Things were always weird, but this was a new kind of weird, something Dennis hadn’t experienced before.

It had started after the game of laser tag, at the gang’s traditional celebratory meal at Dave and Buster’s. Dennis had been tired, far more tired than he’d been willing to let on, and the sounds of laughing and video games and chewing had started to grate on him, needling at the corners of his vision. He’d wanted to scream, honestly. If he’d had it in him, or had he been, maybe, 1% less stable, he would’ve upended their table and clawed his own eyes out.

But, before anything could happen, Mac had grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him outside, just like that. No nerves, no questions, just Mac making an excuse and getting Dennis out of there.

Instead of rejoining the gang, they’d gone for a walk around the block - it had been far too cold for that kind of thing, but, with Mac by his side, Dennis hadn’t been able to bring himself to care. He hadn’t even noticed that his hands had turned blue and mottled until Mac had pointed it out.

Things had spiralled after that.

Mac holding his cold hands, Mac holding his warm hands, Mac making him dinner, Mac too far away from him on the couch, Mac in the wrong bed, Mac in the right bed, Mac staring at him from the other side of the bar.

And Dennis still didn’t know what to say to him about it.

He’d tried to open some kind of conversation, of course he’d tried. But, somehow, his tongue always ended up working itself into knots, twisting and turning and never doing quite what he wanted it to do. Sometimes it became sharp without permission. He hated it when it did that.

It was like he was underwater, trapped beneath a thick layer of ice, and Mac was stood above him, looking down. It was like drowning and knowing that you can’t save yourself alone, but also knowing that there is no way you can call for help. It was like any number of metaphors, none of which Dennis had been able to perfect in his head, none quite capturing the specific agony of it all.

Okay, maybe that was dramatic. It wasn’t an agony, not really. It was sometimes even nice, this weird little thing he and Mac had fallen into - he liked letting Mac take his hand without question, and he liked knowing there was someone unashamedly looking out for him. He was just tired of treading water, is all.

So, what did they do? 

They danced around things, as always. Mac pretended to see other people, and Dennis pretended not to mind, despite keeping a constant catalogue of them in his head, one that he sometimes ran through when he couldn’t sleep:

The man from The Rainbow, the man down the street, the priest, the store clerk, the cute one with the bangs, the scary one with the dog, the one with the flannel shirts. None of them were any threat, Dennis knew where Mac’s affections lay, but it hurt nonetheless.

The door to the chip shop swang open, pooling Dennis in a momentary, delicious warmth, making him close his eyes and sigh.

“You good?” Mac asked.

“Yeah.” Dennis said.

Mac smiled at him, offering up the takeaway bag, “here,” he said, “hold this. It’ll keep you warm.”

He hadn’t even had to ask if Dennis was cold. Dennis took the bag, grateful, but still longing for a more solid kind of warmth; he looked pointedly at Mac’s arms, which remained stiffly by his sides, hands stuck deep in his pockets.

Obviously, he didn’t get the hint, because he jerked his head across the street and said, “home?” Quietly.

Dennis nodded.

Despite clutching the takeaway bag tightly, Dennis’ teeth were chattering by the time he got home.

The second he and Mac stepped inside the apartment, Dennis made a beeline for the couch, dropping the food on the coffee table and curling in on himself, jacket still pulled tightly around his shoulders.

“C’mon, man,” Mac said, coming to crouch beside him and pulling at the jacket, “you’re gonna get sick.”

Like he wasn’t already sick. “I’m cold,” Dennis complained, shutting his eyes and batting Mac’s hands away.

“There’s no way you’ll warm up like that, dude. The cold is inside the coat - it’s just gonna make you feel worse.”

“Surely there’s no science supporting that,” Dennis grumbled. Still, he sat up and let Mac peel his jacket from his shoulders, so carefully it was almost laughable.

“You want a blanket?” Mac asked, eyes wide.

What Dennis wanted, more than anything else in the entire world, was to curl up next to Mac and fall asleep. He was freezing, of course he was, but not in the way Mac thought - it was the ice again, see, the ice capping his frozen lake. He couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of it in his bones, making him creak and grimace with every movement.

That would have been a stupid thing to say out loud, though, so he nodded, leaning forward to open up the takeaway bag as Mac hurried off into the bedroom in search of their thickest blanket.

When he got back, Dennis had neatly arranged their food on the coffee table. Mac smiled when he saw it, a smile undeserving of the mess Dennis had made of their meal. He hadn’t even bothered up to get plates, instead, opting to eat right out of the plastic packaging, something Mac often complained about, worrying they’d “ingest toxins” somehow.

“Thanks, man,” he said, sounding stupidly sincere as he draped the blanket over Dennis’ shoulders and plopped down beside him on the couch.

This was the part where Dennis always began to struggle. Sitting close to Mac, eating, watching a movie. It always made him feel sick with nerves.

Back when they were younger, before everything got complicated, they’d used to be able to get away with just about anything. Handholding, cuddling, even the occasional makeout session. Maybe that added to the tension of these present nights, in a way, the memories of what they’d used to be allowed to do.

“Wanna start the movie?” Mac asked, holding up the remote.

Dennis nodded, not really caring. They were watching Predator again, a film he’d seen so many times he could recite it almost word-for-word. He didn’t need to see it to watch it.

Mac, seemingly oblivious to Dennis’ inner turmoil, began to eat; he laughed along to the film without a care in the world, saying the lines at the same time as the actors and imitating the explosions. Dennis watched him silently.

After a while, Mac paused and furrowed his brow, glancing to the side, “aren’t you hungry?”

Dennis looked down at his untouched food and shrugged, trying desperately to say everything with a single movement.

Not even Mac could read what he meant to say, though, and he pushed further, “are you feeling alright?”

That was a loaded question and Mac knew it. He was giving Dennis a chance to excuse himself, to add another layer to the ice above him. He was giving him a chance to drown, if he wanted.

But Dennis, above everything else, was tired, “no.” He said.

Mac froze, like he hadn’t expected Dennis to tell the truth. After a second, he put a tentative hand on his back and asked, “what’s wrong?”

“Oh,” Dennis waved his hand vaguely, “you know.”

Did Mac know?

It seemed inevitable to Dennis that he must - sometimes, Dennis felt like he was wearing a big, glowing sign that told everyone exactly how he was feeling at all times. It wasn’t his fault it was written in a language most people didn’t seem to be able to read.

He took a deep breath in, knowing that whatever came out of his mouth would be inadequate, “I’m just tired,” he said.

“It’s been a long day,” Mac agreed, and Dennis panicked as he removed his hand from his back, leaving a cold empty space where it had rested.

“I-”

“We could go to bed if you want? Finish the movie some other time?”

_ We. _

He hated it when Mac spoke like that, so casual, so goddamn open. It was an unavoidable fact that he and Mac had started sharing a bed after the whole AirBNB incident, that it had just grown easier to accept it than to orchestrate a whole song and dance about nightmares, or a cold room, or a strange shape in the mirror.

Maybe, once upon a time, the whole pantomime would have added to the fun, but Dennis didn’t have the energy for that kind of thing anymore. He just wanted it to happen to him - all of it. He just wanted it to happen and to be able to let it wash over him like a cool, gentle wave.

“I’m tired.” He said again, louder than he’d intended.

“Bed, then?”

“No, Mac, I’m-”

There was no word for what he was. There were over 170,000 words in the dictionary he and Mac inexplicably kept on their bookshelf. Dennis knew this because he’d pored through it one night, searching and searching for some word, some phrase, to help him understand it all. There was nothing. Tired was the closest he’d gotten.

Mac sighed, “okay.”

Dennis wanted Mac to break through his weak surface, the layer of ice that separated them, so thin that Mac could have tapped it, just tapped it, and it would have shattered completely. He wanted Mac to break the surface and tell him to stop being a dick and just get his ass to bed. He wanted Mac to break the surface and kiss him.

Only Mac could do it. If he was sure of one thing, it was that.

“You still look cold,” Mac said, with worry, “you sure you’re not coming down with something, man?”

“Huh?”

“Cold. You look cold.”

“Ah.”

He  _ was  _ cold, and not in a metaphorical sense. He was still shivering from earlier, the icy chill still rattling around in his bones.

Mac was still looking at him with nervous eyes, in that way he’d been doing more and more in recent weeks. His worry wasn’t unfounded, not with the way Dennis felt himself slipping; but that didn’t stop it from being terrifying.

“Stop staring,” Dennis grumbled, pushing his food away once and for all and crossing his arms.

“You’d be warmer if you ate something.”

“Well, I’m not gonna.”

“Dennis…”

“Mac.”

Sighing, Mac turned his entire body towards Dennis, in a way that would have been intimidating had he been anyone else, “you’re shivering.”

Something about the simple way he said it, the gentle, almost patronising tone, made Dennis grit his teeth, “nice observational skills,” he said, “good to know our bouncer has eyes.”

“Don’t be an asshole about this, man.”

“Oh,  _ I’m  _ being an asshole?”

“Yes! You’re cold and hungry and tired, and it’s making you act like a dick!”

Dennis didn’t know what to say to that. It was rare for Mac to insult him, even like this, in the softest of voices. In a way, the softness almost made it feel worse, like running headfirst into a brick wall you didn’t see coming.

He chewed on his tongue.

“Den,” Mac said, leaning in and speaking quietly, “what’s up?”

Oh, God. Oh, God, don’t let this be happening.

This was what Dennis had been waiting and hoping for for weeks - a hand on the ice above him, the presence of warmth headed his way, Mac coming to his rescue.

He hadn’t realised how scary it would feel. At least beneath the ice, he’d known his place; he was Dennis Reynolds and he was treading water and that was okay. It had been easier when Mac had been swimming beside him, of course, but he’d adjusted, just as he always did.

But, outside? Beyond the ice, out where Mac had been wandering along for the past few years? There were infinite things that could go wrong - infinite fears Dennis couldn’t even begin to imagine, let alone know how to cope with.

He didn’t like change, he was afraid of it. If everyone he’d ever let close to him, a number which was scarily nearing double digits, had to write down one concrete fact about him, it would be that he was afraid of change.

And, then, here was Mac, changing him. Maybe it was because he knew him the best of all: he knew that Dennis was always scared of the things he needed the most.

“Dennis,” Mac was more insisten this time, pushing the word out and cracking the ice a little, “talk to me.”

Dennis wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Mac that he hadn’t spoken to him in years, not really, not truthfully.

But, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. His tongue was tied into knots, it was frozen in place, it was stuck to the roof of his mouth like it had the time he’d shame-eaten an entire packet of toffee in one sitting.

“Den.”

Dennis shook his head and closed his eyes, feeling a tiny pinprick of water at their corners. It must have been the ice. It can’t have been tears. He didn’t do those.

Without warning, Mac reached out and touched the tips of his fingers to Dennis’ face, making the tiniest of noises as their skin met. As much as Dennis wanted to believe the noise came from desire, or from some compulsive expression of love, he knew it was because he was freezing cold.

“Bro,” Mac said, “tomorrow we’re going to the pharmacy, and we’re gonna get you some iron supplements or something.”

Dennis nodded, holding his breath. Mac’s fingers were softer than usual tonight, though not greasy or wet or gross. He wondered if Mac had been stealing his hand cream, or fiddling with his skincare products in the bathroom. If his tongue had been working, he might’ve started a fight about it.

Taking his silence for compliance, Mac sighed, spreading his fingers out and cupping Dennis’ cheek, “it’s okay,” he mumbled, “it’s okay, man. I just don’t want you to get sick again.”

Mac must be well aware by this point that it wasn’t by food, not tonight. Sometimes it was, though. They were both desperately aware of how much it could be about food. 

Dennis untied, unstuck, unfroze, his tongue.

“Still cold,” he murmured.

Mac understood, “you want..?”

Dennis wanted. He wanted so badly. So, he nodded again. It didn’t take a tongue to nod your head.

Mac pulled him into a gentle hug, folding his arms around him and making a weird noise at the back of his throat, like a silent communication of comfort. Closing his eyes, Dennis let this happen as well, let his head come to rest on Mac’s shoulder, let Mac’s hand gently thread through his hair, let himself let go.

He always did this, he always had to be pulled into hugs. It was a fundamental part of keeping the ice intact. If Mac pushed forward into him, or if Mac waited, with open arms, something would be irreparably shattered.

It was a stupid rule - it was a made-up rule, illogical like Charlie’s rituals, but it was inescapable. Mac understood this, in a way that made Dennis a little sad. He’d been there.

“Dude,” Mac said, once Dennis was fully settled against him “I, uh- I have a question.”

Dennis gripped at Mac’s arm so hard it must’ve hurt. There it was, there was Mac’s hand pulling away from the ice, there was the lifting of the fist. He braced himself, waiting for the inevitable blow.

“Uh,” Mac continued, “does it, like, feel weird when you get cold like this? Do your hands feel funny? I’ve just always wondered, ‘cos of that one time I cut myself with a sword and lost a ton of blood. You remember that, right?”

Dennis nodded, “yeah,” he said weakly, “I remember.”

“Well, uh, when I was about to pass out, my hands felt  _ so  _ cold and like they were made of jello, and the entire time all I could think was, like, “is this how Dennis feels?” ‘Cos you’re always so-”

“Huh.” Well, that wasn’t the blow Dennis had been expecting. He relaxed a little, breathing in deep.

“Sorry, man, I know it’s weird, I’ve just- it’s just something I think about a lot. That’s all.”

It was such an innocent question. It was such a heartfelt notion that Mac had been thinking of Dennis, as he bled out. Dennis almost wanted to tear up. He was suddenly glad that his face was tucked into Mac’s shoulder, safe and out of sight, in case he betrayed himself.

Biting his lip, he thought hard, “it does kinda feel weird,” he said, “yeah. I guess it’s a funny feeling.” Now that Mac mentioned it, his hands did feel wobbly, like jello.

“Aw, dude,” Mac said, almost cartoonishly sad, “that sucks. I didn’t like it at all - I didn’t like feeling that way.”

Dennis wanted to say that he didn’t either - he wanted to say that he hated feeling like Mac had back then, that he knew exactly what they were talking about, and it wasn’t wobbly hands.

He said nothing. His tongue was somehow stuck again.

Mac tightened his grip on Dennis’ back and Dennis tensed up, trying to breathe evenly.

“I-” Mac stammered, “I just-”

He cut himself off. That was odd. Mac didn’t do that, he didn’t mince his words, not often. It was like he’d spent years tiptoeing around his feelings, and, now they were out in the open, he was more sure of himself; he’d say whatever came into his head, whether it was right or wrong or downright stupid. Dennis liked that, it felt very Mac.

It seemed they’d fallen backwards all of a sudden, though, because Mac was still stuttering, tongue sounding as knotted as Dennis’ felt.

“I, uh-” he murmured, fingers digging into Dennis’ back.

Dennis grunted, knowing Mac would understand.

That appeared to kick him into action, “it’s just-” he continued, “I wish you didn’t feel so shitty all the time, man.”

Yeah. Yeah, Dennis did too.

He understood what Mac meant to say, though: it was another careful love confession, an outpouring of feeling.

It was a lot - a lot to deal with. Dennis pressed his hand to the ice above him, testing its strength; he thought he saw a light shining through, golden and warm, something to push towards.

He unstuck his tongue. “Mac.” He said, “Mac.”

“Yeah?” Mac replied, the fear in his voice not at all masked by the way he fretted with the neck of Dennis’ shirt.

“Please.”

Pulling away, Mac looked him in the eye, “huh?”

“Please.” Dennis repeated, not breaking eye contact, even though it made his fingers feel even weaker.

“I don’t know what you want, I-”

“You do.” He must. He should. He did.

He did. He did. He leaned forward and Dennis’ breath caught in his throat as his lungs contracted, choking him, drowning him.

Dennis was staring at the light above him; he was watching as Mac leaned in to kiss him; he was pressing his hand against the ice and meeting Mac’s palm, feeling its warmth leech through the thin layers that separate them.

Before their lips met, Mac pressed his shaking fingers against Dennis’ face, tapping at his cheek comfortingly, and Dennis sucked in a final breath as his sky shattered.

And, then, they were kissing.

It didn’t feel like it used to. Back before Mac had come out, back when this action had been an instinct, back when it had been a simple fulfillment of a mutual need. In the old days, it had just felt warm. Warm and comforting and nice, like the expensive whiskey Dennis had used to steal from Frank’s liquor cabinet.

Now, time had evolved them into something more precarious, more terrifying, it was like kissing in a thunderstorm: all rain and urgency and electricity. Dennis knew Mac felt it too because he shivered visibly. He’d never used to do that.

Still, a kiss was a kiss, and Dennis’ hands had somehow found Mac’s face out of muscle memory and he was holding him in place, so gently that he was barely touching him. It was all so fragile, the light above him still so weak, and Dennis was afraid to grip it tightly, unsure of what would happen if he did.

Mac pulled away, far far too soon, “Dennis,” he said, voice echoing weirdly.

Dennis wanted to respond, but Mac had swallowed his tongue. He’d pulled him out of the water and swallowed his tongue before he’d even gotten a chance to thank him. Dennis closed his eyes.

“Was that okay?”

Dennis nodded. It was more than okay.

“Still cold?” Mac asked, joking a little.

He wasn’t. Shaking his head no, he opened his eyes, squinting. It wasn’t as scary as he’d imagined - sitting in front of Mac, vulnerable, with everything laid out.

With some effort, he said, “I’m good.”

“Good.”

Nothing had changed. The movie was still playing in the background, loud and incomprehensible; cars were still driving by outside, their headlights leaking into the dim living room, making Dennis wish they had curtains; his heart was still beating its unsteady beat.

He’d lived. He’d done the impossible and lived. If he was being honest with himself, which he supposed he was, it made him feel a little sick.

“Sorry,” Mac said, eyes trained on Dennis’ pale face.

“Don’t be, Mac.”

“But, I-”

“Mac. Thank you.” It sounded so fake, so stilted, but all Dennis could be was grateful. He didn’t know how else to express it.

Screwing his face up, Mac looked down at his hands, “s’ no problem, dude.”

“I mean it,” Dennis said, wishing he could turn this into some romantic gesture, to take Mac’s hands and hold them to his thrumming heart. But he couldn’t. “I mean it, I really do.”

“Den, it’s not a  _ favour,  _ Jesus, man. It was a kiss.”

Dennis didn’t know what to say. And, if he had known, he wouldn’t have been able to say it.

“I did it because I wanted to,” Mac continued, “because I, well, you know.”

Dennis knew.

He wanted to say that he knew.

Instead, he nodded, so minutely that Mac would have missed it, had he not known Dennis as well as he did.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes looking right through Dennis, “I get it, man.”

He did. He really, really did.

Dennis didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know what to say,” he said.

“S’ okay. You don’t have to.”

“But-”

“The film’s still running?” Mac offered, helpfully.

“Right.”

Great. So, they were going to carry on watching Predator like nothing had happened, like Dennis’ lips weren’t burning with what he’d just done.

“So,” Mac said, making a vague gesture, “if you want, you can…”

“Oh.” Dennis blinked, looking at Mac’s open arms, “okay.”

With more care than necessary, he shuffled towards Mac and curled against him, letting his head rest on his chest; it was a tricky move, especially considering he was a few inches taller than him (something he almost never let Mac forget.)

It was comfortable nevertheless and, even more importantly, comfort _ ing.  _ The feeling of Mac breathing solidly beneath him, his heavy arm holding him in place. It was almost enough to make him fall asleep.

He fixed his eyes on the film. They were at one of Mac’s favourite parts: a particularly badass fight scene, one that Mac claimed to have used as inspiration for the battle choreography in one of their homemade films. That was bullshit, of course, but Dennis clung to that piece of knowledge for some reason, like it was a precious jewel. It was nice to know things about someone you loved.

Looking up, however, he saw Mac wasn’t watching the TV. He was staring down at Dennis, eyes heavy and gentle.

“What?” Dennis asked, tongue still feeling sticky.

“Nothing.”

“You were staring.”

Mac smiled, like he was sharing a private joke with himself, “am I not allowed to do that?” He asked.

“It’s rude to stare.”

“I think the rules are different for us.”

Of course they were. Dennis sighed, allowing himself to smile. “Yeah. they are.”

He breathed in. And, then, he breathed out. It was nice to feel fresh air in his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this is melodramatic and silly and u can tell i didn't plan it fkjsadfhsd, but it was SOO fun to write <3 i love watery metaphors


	5. will you let me let go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dennis was his mother’s child. Dennis was the name his mother had chosen. She’d moulded him, she’d shaped him. Everything he had had come from her - the little glass ornaments on the bookshelf, his compulsion to bite his nails, chronic migraines, a tendency to skip meals, alcoholism, a taste for drugs that even Mac wouldn’t touch. Everything. If you mapped out his life on a piece of paper, each road and river and street would lead right back to Barbara Reynolds._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm really chipping away at these prompts huh? this was for the prompt "blame me" requested by smallhairbigfeelings on tumblr (sorry this took, like, five months and sorry it's angsty fkjdshfsdkh)
> 
> **content warnings:**
> 
> * discussions of grief / death of a parent 
> 
> * one mild reference to both disordered eating and drug addiction 
> 
> * abuse and homophobia is alluded to but never shown 
> 
> title from mitski's bag of bones!

  
  


**13:49**

**On a Thursday**

**2008**

**Philadelphia, PA**

  


“Jesus Christ, man.”

Dennis sat down on the curb, burying his face in his hands. He was hungover, head pounding and tongue so dry that he thought it might shrivel up and fall right out of his mouth. The day had been a disaster.

This past week he’d been spinning like a planet knocked from its orbit - Mac and Charlie had been doing their best to ground him, but nothing had worked. He was out of control. In all honesty, he felt a little crazy, he felt like he could do anything, and not in a good way. There were no consequences to his actions anymore.

Because, his mum was dead.

  


“Dennis,” Mac had been hovering by his side the entire day, never standing more than a meter from him. It was annoying - sweet - but annoying.

Dennis grunted, not acknowledging Mac as he plopped down on the curb beside him and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be okay, dude.” He mumbled, sounding a little uncomfortable. 

Mac had seen the worst of it. He’d seen Dennis threatening to kill Bruce; Dennis picking up photos from the mantlepiece and shattering them on the marble floor, one by one; Dennis laughing hysterically as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the fridge. He’d seen Dennis doing things that nobody should be allowed to see anyone else doing - raw things, vulnerable things, stupid acts of madness. 

It made Dennis feel naked. And not in a sexy way, either.

He shook his head, ears buzzing, “it’s not. It’s not okay.”

“We can get the house back.”

Jesus Christ, the house. Dennis had almost forgotten about the house. He didn’t have that many happy memories in it but- but it was his childhood home. He’d grown up there.

“We can’t, Mac.” He said, hollowly, “we violated the terms of the will, and-”

Even the word “will” made his heart crash from his chest to his stomach. His mother’s will. His mother’s will, which had been released to him, because she was dead.

  


They’d never been particularly close.

It wasn’t like they’d hated each other - of course they hadn’t, Dennis had been her favourite, her perfect son. She’d doted on him, throwing money his way whenever he asked for it.

But he’d never known her. He’d known her favourite books, her favourite films, the way she’d most liked to style her hair, but he’d never managed to get deeper than that. Really, what he knew of her was the same as you’d know of a distant friend, the surface level stuff.

And that was all he’d ever know. Because she was gone.

  


He let out an unexpected choking sound, despite trying to hold it back, and felt Mac snap to attention beside him.

“You okay, bro?” He asked.

Dennis curled his fingers into his hair, tugging hard, “shut up.”

“Dennis, man, come on-”

“Shut  _ up!” _

He heard Mac’s mouth snap shut, teeth clashing in a way that must have hurt, and sighed in relief. No more questioning.

“I’m just mad we lost the house.” He said.

Mac was silent for a moment, and Dennis almost thought he was about to stand up and leave. He would’ve been well within his right to - he hadn’t signed up for any of this, and, yet, he always seemed to be the one putting up with Dennis’ moods and temper tantrums. Sometimes, Dennis wondered how hard he would have to push him before he snapped and gave up on him entirely; sometimes, Dennis tested the wire that held them together, wondering whether it would give way or slice right through him if he pushed it to its limit.

The wire was taut today, but held firm as Mac put a careful arm around Dennis’ shoulders and leaned in, so close that his breath tickled his ear.

“You can always blame me, man.” He said.

“Huh?”

Mac cleared his throat, “uh - blame me! Say I was the one that invited Frank in, say that I forced you to sit and watch the wedding. Sue me, get me thrown in jail - I don’t care.”

  


Something twisted in Dennis’ chest, something he’d been grappling with for a few years now, but that he was still hesitant to name. He knew Mac was willing to do anything for him, but to hear that he was willing to go to jail, something he’d always admitted to being terrified of-

“No.” Dennis said, tersely, “it’s fine.”

“Your loss.”

Mac pulled away, giving Dennis the opportunity to glance over at him. He looked a mess, eyes bruised from their sleepless night, hair unkempt, clothes stained and dirty. Dennis almost wanted to kiss him again, but he couldn’t - not outside, not without the cover of familiar walls.

Because, yeah, they’d kissed the night before. It wasn’t a big deal - they’d gotten bored of their guests pretty quickly, and Mac had grabbed Dennis’ wrist to pull him into his old bedroom, under the guise of wanting to see if it had changed.

It hadn’t changed. It must’ve felt as familiar to Mac as it had to Dennis - as teenagers, they’d spent hours in there, smoking and drinking and playing video games. Dennis almost thought of it as Mac’s room as much as his own. When things had gotten really bad at home, Mac had slept with him for an entire month, hanging off the edge of the bed, or sleeping on the floor, or tangling himself in Dennis’ arms, depending on his mood.

Years later, and Mac hadn’t changed a bit.

“Kiss me,” he’d said, eyes wild and unfocused from the beer.

Dennis had kissed him, of course. He always did.

  


It wasn’t the sort of thing he was supposed to think about, though. Not outside, not sat on a street corner with his head in his hands.

He wanted to lock the memory up in a little box, only to be opened in the privacy of his bedroom in the middle of the night. It was too shameful to be seen anywhere else.

“Dennis.” Mac said, his voice taking on that thin, whining quality that set Dennis’ teeth on edge, “can we just go home?”

Mac had always felt a little uncomfortable in Dennis’ neighbourhood, Dennis knew that. He’d never fit in, with his scruffy clothes and his inability to keep his voice down - Dennis had actually secretly thought he improved the area, bringing something that had always been missing. But Mac was, as always, self-conscious about the differences in their upbringing.

  


Dennis lifted his head and opened his eyes. This was the street where he’d learned to ride his bike. This was the street he’d walked along in the rain countless times, after sneaking out to smoke in the park. This was the street he’d run down crying after-

“Dennis, please,” Mac whined again, standing up and tugging Dennis’ shirt, “I feel like shit, I wanna go to bed, and-”

“Jesus Christ, Mac, stop being a fucking baby. Take the Range Rover, if you need to, just- just get out of here.”

Mac drew his arms across his chest, looking down at his feet. It seemed he knew a lost battle when he saw one, “I’ll text you,” he said.

“Whatever.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind nothing but a sinking sense of fear in Dennis’ chest.

  


His mum had always hated Mac; she’d thought he was too rough, too coarse and loud. She’d been the reason Mac had had to sneak in through Dennis’ bedroom window every time he’d stayed over, shimmying up the drainpipe in a way that had miraculously never ended in disaster.

Dennis supposed she wouldn’t have approved of what he and Mac had become - what the two of them were teetering on the edge of. She’d always refused to visit their apartment, perhaps afraid of what she might find there.

It wasn’t like she was vocally homophobic, not in the way Frank was, but there was a sense of something, a kind of fear of otherness, that made Dennis sure that she would hate him. He had a strange feeling that she would have been the type to cry if she’d ever found out about the times he’d slept with men.

  


But she was dead. So it didn’t matter.

  


He ended up walking home, right across town. It wasn’t a pleasant journey, but he’d made it so many times before that his feet had carried him almost on muscle memory.

Three hours later, he found himself unlocking his apartment door, hands shaking from the cold. The second he stepped over the threshold, he felt Mac’s eyes on him, big and begrudging and so very, very worried.

“You didn’t text me back,” he said, darkly.

He was sat on the couch, staring at the blank TV, like he’d been pretending to watch it. A prickling feeling at the back of Dennis’ neck told him he’d been sat waiting for hours.

“I forgot.”

“Hm.”

Dennis slammed the door shut and slipped his shoes off, making a beeline for his room, “I’m gonna nap.”

“Wait!”

There was a panicked urgency in Mac’s voice that Dennis hadn’t heard in a long time - something about it, the way the single syllable hung in the air, made him stop in his tracks.

Mac hurried to him, gripping his arm so tightly that Dennis knew there was no point in trying to shake him off, “I wanna talk,” he said, quietly.

“About what?”

“About wh- dude! Your mum just died! I know we don’t do this a lot, man, but I think you should-”

“Fuck off.”

Mac let go of his arm, shocked. Dennis’ voice had dipped so low, so ragged, that it had hardly sounded like it was his own. Even he was a little surprised by it.

“Dennis,” Mac said, hushed, “Dennis, please.”

  


Dennis was his mother’s child. Dennis was the name his mother had chosen. She’d moulded him, she’d shaped him. Everything he had had come from her - the little glass ornaments on the bookshelf, his compulsion to bite his nails, chronic migraines, a tendency to skip meals, alcoholism, a taste for drugs that even Mac wouldn’t touch. Everything. If you mapped out his life on a piece of paper, each road and river and street would lead right back to Barbara Reynolds.

He even had her nose. And her eyes. If he looked in the mirror right then, and if he curled his mouth into a very particular smirk, he knew he’d see her staring right back at him, as though they were looking at each other through a window.

Everywhere he looked, he saw her ghost.

  


“Den, baby,” Mac said, speaking softer than he had in months, “c’mon.”

Dennis froze. Mac only dared to call him that when he was scared, or horny, or when he wanted something.

He blinked and frowned at Mac, trying to figure out which it was - Mac stared back with wide eyes, mouth drawn in a thin, serious line. Scared.

“What?” Dennis snapped.

“You’re upset.”

“No.”

“Yes, you are! I know you, man, I know what it means when you get all quiet and weird and-” Mac fumbled around for the right word but couldn’t seem to find it. Instead, he waved his hands around his head.

“Lost?” Dennis offered, unable to stop himself.

“Lost.”

  


Sighing, Dennis pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to figure out his next move. Mac probably meant well - of course he did, but Dennis was hungover as all shit, and needed desperately to sit in a dark room.

“Hey,” the way Mac’s voice lowered told Dennis he’d mistaken his headache for tears, “dude.”

He patted his shoulder, a little awkward, making the least comforting noises Dennis had ever heard. It sounded like he was trying to call a cat, or like he was recreating the sound of rain from a distant memory.

  


They stood like that for a long time. Too long. Dennis’ head began to pound harder, and he found himself almost frozen to the spot, unable to bear the thought of removing his hands, as he knew the faintest hint of light would hurt him. He sighed, close to just curling up on the floor and falling asleep there.

“Shit,” he managed to choke out, “we drank way too fucking much last night.”

Mac made a sympathetic noise. Without dropping his hands, Dennis just knew his face was plastered with that annoying lopsided smile, the one he conjured up when he thought Dennis needed encouragement.

Dennis sighed, “I really need to go to bed.”

Neither of them moved.

“Do you-” Mac sounded nervous, like he was chewing the words as he spoke them, biting down to make sure they weren’t rotten, “do you want me to come with you?”

That was all Dennis needed to tear his hands from his face and glare at Mac, “what?”

“No, no! Not like that- I just-”

“You thought we could pick up where we left off last night? Is that it?”

“No, Dennis, listen-”

“Is that what all this caring shit has been about, huh? Tell me you haven’t just been waiting for the opportunity to bang me, waiting until I’m nice and vulnerable until you can-”

“Dennis, Jesus, shut the fuck  _ up!” _

Dennis fell silent. Out of choice, that is, and not because there was a note in Mac’s voice that made his heart jump.

“Dude,” Mac said, sounding like he had a sore throat all of a sudden, “I just don’t want you to be alone.”

“I’m fine on my own, Mac.”

“That’s what my mum said when my dad went to prison.”

Dennis rolled his eyes. It was just like Mac to have a whole complex about family, about grief and losing parents. He didn’t know the half of it - at least Luther was alive; sure, he was locked up in some cell, but he was  _ alive.  _ There was still that tiny sliver of chance that Mac could see him again, that, one day, Mac could ask him a question that was on his mind, or tell him a joke he’d always wanted to tell.

He never would, of course. You never think to do these things until the chance is gone.

“It’s not the same.” Dennis said roughly.

“I know,” Mac said, “but it still sucked.”

It probably did. Dennis knew he was being harsh, and it tugged at his heartstrings a little to picture Mac, small and stupid and alone, watching as he lost both his parents in opposite directions.

Okay, maybe it tugged at his heartstrings more than a little. Maybe it was a goddamn tragedy and Dennis just didn’t want to think about it otherwise he’d start crying right then and there.

  


“Den,” Mac said, “I don’t want that for you.”

Translation: I’m afraid you’ll leave me as well.

It annoyed Dennis a little that Mac couldn’t just come out and say what he meant, but he relented, realising there was no point in fighting this battle.

Being alone would have been nice. He wanted to be alone, really, but if something as simple as napping beside Mac could stop him from complaining, he didn’t see how it could hurt. He knew they were both hungover enough to be out cold within five minutes, anyway.

“Fine,” he said, with a little more force than necessary, “but if you snore, you’re out.”

Mac gave him another one of those stupid smiles, giddy and far too open for Dennis’ comfort, and folded his arms.

“Dude,” he said, “trust me, it’s for the best.”

“No fucking cuddling,” Dennis warned.

“Nah, what do you think I am? Gay?”

Dennis sighed unhappily, “of course not, dude,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading <3 thank u for allowing me to project for 2.6k words <3


	6. it's always been you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was a box of chocolates, and an expensive one at that, the kind you only got when they were on special offer at the supermarket. A little confused, Mac opened them up and looked inside._
> 
> _There was a note._
> 
> _“Mac,_
> 
> _Happy Valentine’s Day,_
> 
> _Your Secret Admirer,” it read._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a productive way to be spending my self isolation time, right?
> 
> (written to fill prompt 39 "secret admirer" for dummygothmommy and soupcharlie on tumblr!) 
> 
> title is from it's u by cavetown

**11:16AM**

**On a Friday**

**Philadelphia, PA**

**2020**

Mac loved Valentine’s Day.

Or, rather, he’d grown to love it. He’d actually hated it for a long time, back when he was closeted, back before he allowed himself to like things that made him happy. Something about the denial had made the candy hearts and fancy chocolates sour in his mouth.

Leaning back in his chair and staring at the office door (which he’d locked, not wanting anyone to walk in on his Valentine’s preparations,) he tried to remember how this day had gone the year before he’d come out. He remembered point blank refusing to even look at the communal chocolates Frank had swiped from the Wawa down the street, and not even Charlie had braved a conversation with him.

The gang had actually come to some kind of truce this year. They’d all agreed to make cards for each other, under the condition they were kind, cheap, and didn’t cause conflict. Mac knew most of those rules were directed towards Frank, who had been more bitter than usual in recent months, but he kept the final rule in mind as he decided not to doodle a heart beside Dennis’ name.

He wanted the card to be classy and romantic, but casual enough that Dennis didn’t feel pressured. It was a tough line to walk, and, honestly, he’d probably messed up by writing in the pink crayon Charlie had left in the back office, obviously having spent the past hour working on a similar project to Mac.

He was done. He looked desperately down at his stack of cards, trying to find something else to do - he knew that he was the last person to finish preparing, and everyone would be clamouring to open the cards the second he dropped them into the little Valentine’s box they’d dug out of storage the week before.

His stomach twisted, for a reason he couldn’t quite place. Nerves? Excitement? Food poisoning?

He supposed he was scared. Scared that Dennis wasn’t going to have made or gotten him anything. Even worse, he was scared that Dennis had made him something and it would be meaningless, identical to what he’d gotten the rest of the gang.

Still, maybe the uncertainty was what Valentine’s Day was all about, what what  _ love  _ was all about. Mac didn’t know. This was uncharted territory for him.

Because, he and Dennis were something else, an entirely new species. If their relationship was an animal, it would be a scientific breakthrough, a newfound species, something that would be named after them and that would go on to baffle scientists for centuries to come.

God, what was he thinking about? Scientists? Relationships? Mac shook his head and rolled his eyes, snatching up the cards from the table and marching out of the back office. He hoped that if he puffed his chest out, nobody would see the way his hands were shaking.

As he’d predicted, the gang were all waiting for him.

“What took you so long?” Dee asked from behind the bar, narrowing her eyes like she suspected Mac had been jerking off or something.

What a homophobe. Mac frowned, “I’m a perfectionist,  _ Dee -  _ I needed to make sure everyone’s cards were perfect.”

“Whatever.” Dee said.

Charlie looked up from where he, Frank, and Dennis were sat, “oh, dude, are you done? Put that shit in the box, man!”

Nervously, Mac leaned across the bar and grabbed the box. It was heavy, like someone had slipped something more than a card into it; a slight pit of unease twisted Mac’s stomach. As the head of security, any nasty surprises would be his job to deal with - and, considering the anthrax scare they’d had a few years ago, he didn’t underestimate the power of the Valentine’s Box.

“Here.” He said, posting his cards inside.

Before he’d even managed to drop the box on the table, Charlie and Dee were gathered around him, clamouring for their cards. Frank and Dennis seemed less eager, and stayed where they were, drinking in silence. Dennis actually looked a little pale - Mac made a mental note to check up on him, to make sure he’d eaten and drunk water within the past twenty four hours.

“Me first!” Dee said, elbowing Mac sharply, “I worked the hardest on my cards, so I get to open mine first.”

“What?” Charlie shrieked, “I absolutely worked harder - I drew pictures and everything!”

Mac took a step back and let them argue, doing his best to catch Dennis’ eye. Now that he could get a proper look at him, he really did seem unwell; he was sweating, and his skin was a pasty green hue, like it had been that time he’d eaten bad takeout.

Charlie won the fight with Dee pretty quickly, and managed to snatch his cards out of the box to open them all.

He’d received one from everyone in the gang: Dee and Dennis had both gotten him generic, store-bought cards. Dennis had drawn a little picture in his, though, a doodle of himself and Charlie smiling and waving. Frank had also drawn pictures in his card, scrappy pieces depicting eggs and cats and rats. Mac’s card almost seemed a little tame in comparison, just a nice photo of them stuck to a piece of construction paper, but Charlie seemed pretty pleased with it, nevertheless.

Then came Dee. She’d also received a card from everyone in the gang. Charlie had given her something that looked an awful lot like a careless squiggle, and Mac guessed he’d only made her one to comply with the “no conflict” rule. Her card from Frank was no better, just a plain, colourless “Happy V-Day,” printed on a napkin. It made Mac feel a little guilty about his own card, which he’d only spent about half an hour on, and which was mostly salvaged by the packet of candy hearts he’d taped to it.

Dennis had, at least, written her a couple of paragraphs in his card, which seemed to be from the same pack as the one he’d given Charlie. Mac began to get his hopes up that he’d be getting a card from him as well - if he’d bought them in bulk, not giving Mac one would definitely violate the “no conflict” rule.

“Okay,” Frank said, begrudgingly, leaving Dennis and walking over to the bar, “my turn.”

Mac didn’t feel bad that his cards from Dee and Dennis were devoid of feeling - that was, after all, what they owed him. Still, he was glad to see him pleased by his and Charlie’s cards, both of which were equally strange and meaningful.

“Thanks guys,” he said, voice a little thinner than it had any right to be.

Jesus. Mac grimaced - he’d only seen Frank emotional once or twice before, and hoped he wasn’t about to see him cry again. That was the last thing they needed in the bar today.

Now, only Mac and Dennis were left. 

This was the situation Mac had been dreading; he knew the contrast between his own heartfelt card and whatever Dennis had given him would be enough to cause a scene. Maybe it would even push Dennis over the edge again, like his gift from a few years ago had.

Neither of them had ever acknowledged it, but Mac knew the RPG was a contributing factor in Dennis’ decision to leave for North Dakota. He knew he’d gone too far that day, been too presumptuous. Why else had he given Mac that terrified, broken look when he’d opened the crate?

Maybe Dennis was feeling the same way Mac was - maybe he could sense the inevitable storm, and that’s why he was looking so queasy.

Deciding to put them both out of their misery, Mac said, “hey, dude, you go next.”

Dennis shook his head.

“Dennis, stop dicking around,” Dee complained, “the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go back to ignoring all this romance shit.”

If it was possible, and apparently it was, Dennis got even paler, “I-”

“Dennis!” Dee snapped.

“Fine.” he said, standing up unsteadily and approaching the bar, snatching the box from Mac’s hands, “fine.”

Mac watched nervously as Dennis opened the box and rooted around inside it, fishing out four cards with his name on.

He opened Frank’s first, probably wanting to get the easiest out of the way. It was almost identical to Dee’s: plain and boring, with a stark “Happy V-Day,” scrawled across it in dark letters.

Next, he opened Charlie’s. It, as Mac had guessed, was covered in meaningful drawings. Mac didn’t understand a few of them, but they seemed to be the ones that affected Dennis the most, and he was almost choked up as he thanked him for it. That set Mac at ease, for some reason.

Then came Dee’s card. It was similar to the one Dennis had made for her: a basic store-bought square, patterned with flowers and balloons. Mac didn’t even think it was a Valentine’s card, because the words “celebration” were emblazoned on the inside in big, bright letters. Alongside the letters were several paragraphs in Dee’s cramped handwriting. Mac didn’t read them, knowing they were private.

And, then, it was Mac’s turn.

Dennis picked up the flimsy card and looked at it for a long moment, as though deciding whether or not to open it. Mac had made sure not to make it too outwardly romantic, opting to draw a cat (Dennis’ favourite animal) on the front, instead of flowers or hearts.

He opened it. Mac took a deep, shuddering breath as he watched Dennis scan the card silently, for far too long. There was a lot of writing in it, but not  _ that  _ much - not so much that Dennis’ eyes had to rake over it again and again. Mac wondered if his handwriting was worse than he’d thought it was, or if Dennis was losing his sight.

But he seemed to understand it perfectly.

“Uh,” he said, voice a little strained, “thanks, Mac.”

“S’ okay.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mac could feel everyone else’s eyes burning into the back of his head. Were they angry with him? That wasn’t fair, not really - he hadn’t created conflict, he’d done what you were supposed to do on Valentine’s Day: he’d told someone he loved how he felt about him. It wasn’t his fault things were complicated.

He turned to look at them and realised, with a start, that they weren’t angry. They each had an imperceptible look on their faces, like they were waiting for something - impatient, but unaffected.

“What?” He asked.

“Jesus Christ,” just open yours already, Mac!” Dee said, giving Mac a little shove.

Mac glared at her, but opened up the box begrudgingly and peered inside.

Oh.

There was a gift with his name on it. That must have been the heavy thing that had worried him earlier, and that must have been the source of the gang’s anticipation. They wanted to know what he’d gotten.

On any other day, he would’ve snatched the gift up and ripped it open, eager to know what was inside. But, today wasn’t any other day - it was Valentine’s Day and he felt very, very strange.

So, he gathered up all his cards and opened them one by one.

Frank’s card was similar to the ones he’d given Dee and Dennis, except he’d taken the trouble to doodle a little rainbow in the corner. It was sweet, weirdly sweet, in a way that made Mac’s heart squeeze.

Then, Dee’s card. He didn’t get a paragraph like Dennis had, but he  _ did  _ get a packet of candy hearts. Maybe he and Dee were more alike than he’d previously thought.

Charlie’s card was, of course, perfect. He’d painstakingly written out Mac’s name, beside a word that seemed to be some kind of attempt at “best friend.” If the rest of the day was a failure, at least Mac had that.

There were no other cards. Of course there weren’t. Mac snuck a sideways glance at Dennis and caught him staring, even greener than before - did he feel guilty? An ugly part of Mac hoped that he did.

He picked up the gift.It was wrapped in flimsy pink tissue paper and rattled when Mac shook it. He guessed it was a box of chocolates or something, but that didn’t make it any easier to unwrap. There was no way it was from Dennis, he wasn’t so stupid as to hope for that - but… he couldn’t help himself. He  _ wanted  _ to hope.

“Just  _ do  _ it!” Charlie begged.

“Right. Okay, uh-” Mac said, tearing away the paper.

He’d been right. It was a box of chocolates, and an expensive one at that, the kind you only got when they were on special offer at the supermarket. A little confused, he opened them up and looked inside.

There was a note.

_ “Mac, _

_ Happy Valentine’s Day, _

  * _Your Secret Admirer,” it read._



Huh. Mac hadn’t anticipated that. He’d half-guessed that the gang had bought it for him as some kind of consolation, what the fuck was a secret admirer? Had a patron slipped it in? Was it a prank?

“Who’s it from, Mac?” Dee asked.

“Uh,” his throat stuck a little as he tried to speak, “uh, it just says “secret admirer,” so… I guess a patron must’ve snuck it in? Or something.”

“Oh. Wow.”

The gang seemed taken aback. Who had  _ they  _ expected it to be from?

Dee coughed, “hey, Dennis, have you seen these chocolates Mac’s admirer got him?”

“Yes.” Dennis said, tersely.

Mac turned around to look at him. He still looked pale, and he was still clutching Mac’s card tightly, like a comfort blanket. For a moment, the resentment Mac had felt earlier melted away.

But only for a moment.

As Dennis put the card down and stalked off to the bathroom, a flame of anger flared up in Mac’s chest.

Dennis was the only member of the gang who hadn’t made everyone a card - and that wasn’t fair. There was no need for it to have been romantic, he could’ve given Mac a blank scrap of paper, and it would’ve been less embarrassing.

Because it felt like a point. Like something done deliberately to harm him.

With that in mind, Mac put the chocolates down and followed Dennis right into the bathroom, not caring about how that must look to the rest of the gang.

Dennis was staring into the mirror when Mac caught up to him. He looked like shit.

“Dennis.”

“What?”

Mac’s face felt hot and itchy, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Dennis sighed, “I just thought…”

“Thought what? You could make an  _ effort,  _ man! I know you don’t like me, or whatever, but you could at least  _ try  _ to not humiliate me in front of everyone.”

“Wh-”

“There were  _ rules,  _ Dennis! No conflict! What about what you just did says no conflict?”

Dennis went very quiet. He pressed his hands together nervously and swallowed so loud that the sound echoed off the solid tile walls.

“You’re, uh,” his voice was shaking, and Mac took a step forward, getting ready to catch him in case he keeled over, “you’re upset.”

“No shit, man. Like - it’s just a  _ card,  _ Dennis! How hard is it to make a card? I know you hate me and everything but - but am I not even your friend anymore?” Mac couldn’t help the way his voice cracked, “are you so disgusted by me that you can’t even bear to write my name on a shitty piece of paper and post it into a box?”

Dennis’ shoulders stiffened, “I’m trying my best,” he said, “I haven’t done this before, Mac. I wasn’t sure if I was doing too much, or not enough, or-”

“What?”

What was he talking about? Sometimes Mac thought his and Dennis’ brains worked completely differently, that they were the two most opposite people on the planet.

“I can get a card if you need. I didn’t think - I thought it wouldn’t matter if I got a gift. I thought the chocolates were-”

What?

Oh.

Oh no.

Mac’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Those were from you?” He asked, so quietly that he wasn’t sure if Dennis would even hear him.

Dennis whipped around, “who else would they have been from?”

“You didn’t sign your name!”

“I was trying to be romantic!”

“Romantic?”

The air in the bathroom was suddenly thin, making Mac feel as sick as Dennis looked - how could he have been so stupid? In what world would a patron take the time to sneak chocolates into their private Valentine’s box? In what world did Dennis not care about him?

He took another step forward and caught Dennis’ elbow, breathing shallowly as he prayed Dennis wouldn’t pull away.

“You really got me chocolates?” He asked, just needing to check one last time.

Dennis visibly clenched his jaw, “yes, asshole! Is it really that hard to believe? You’ve gotten me Valentine’s Day presents before.”

“But that’s different.”

“Is it?”

It wasn’t. If Mac wore his feelings for Dennis on his sleeve, then Dennis wore his feelings for Mac on his collar - closer to his chest, safer, but still painfully visible.

“I just-”

Dennis sighed, “I know, man.”

“I didn’t get you anything. I only made a card.”

That was what was getting at Mac most of all, making him feel sick with guilt. He’d been so busy trying not to scare Dennis away again, trying to confess his love in a way that could be brushed off if he needed it to be, that he wasn’t sure he’d managed to get it all out there. Dennis must know he loved him, it wasn’t something he kept quiet. But he probably didn’t know how much. He probably didn’t know about the fact that he loved him so much that it hurt - that just standing there touching him was painful.

“It was perfect.” Dennis said.

“It was just paper.”

“And the chocolates are just chocolates. That’s not what this is about.”

“I guess not.”

Mac gripped Dennis’ elbow tighter, testing to see what he would do - he was prepared for him to stand there stiffly and soak up the affection like he didn’t need it desperately. He was also prepared for him to tear away and start yelling that Mac had misunderstood, that he loved him, but not like that.

He wasn’t prepared for him to turn around and press a hand to the back of his neck. He wasn’t prepared for him to peer into his eyes, frowning like he was trying to read something small without his contacts in.

It wasn’t that much of a surprise. They’d been touching more recently - just little necessities, like Mac carrying Dennis to bed when he hadn’t been eating enough, or bumping elbows at the dinner table, or sitting so close that their legs brushed as they watched TV.

But they hadn’t been this deliberate with it in a long time. It was almost too real, too pointed, for Mac to enjoy - it made his chest tighten a little, with the knowledge that they’d reached a crossroads. They were toeing the line of the point of no return.

So, he may as well go all the way, right?

“I wanted to say more in the card.” He admitted.

“Did you run out of space?” Dennis asked, in a way that would have been teasing had they been in any other situation.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear it.”

“Tell me now, then,” there was a slight whine in Dennis’ voice, like he was asking a favour he wasn’t sure he deserved, “please?”

“I still don’t think you want-”

“I do!”

Mac almost wanted to shake Dennis off and turn away - it hurt to look at him somehow, a great, aching pain right in the center of his chest.

But the colour was beginning to return to his cheeks, and he seemed so sure of himself, so solid, like he could take whatever Mac threw at him. Mac had to remind himself that Dennis wasn’t as frail or pathetic as he sometimes appeared to be. He could handle the truth.

Sucking the thin air into his lungs, Mac said, “it was just that- it’s just that I love you, man.”

“You what?”

“I love you. I’m in love with you.”

It didn’t feel weird to say. Maybe a few years ago it would have been - but now, Mac felt no shame. He loved Dennis. He’d loved him for as long as he could remember; and Dennis deserved to know that, even if it freaked him out.

Did it freak him out? His face was unreadable, and he’d only managed to utter a simple, “oh shit.”

“You didn’t already know?” 

He could’ve sworn he’d told Dennis before - not like this, not in a way that forced Dennis to confront his own feelings - but, he thought Dennis had at the very least heard him say those three words.

Even if Mac hadn’t said it, even if he hadn’t verbally told him, surely it had been obvious? 

Dennis cleared his throat, “I didn’t think it was that serious.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I mean, I thought it was all-”

He waved his hands, and Mac narrowed his eyes. What had he thought? How could he have misconstrued Mac’s feelings as anything other than love?

“You thought I just wanted to bang you or something?”

“I mean - I thought it was just a crush, y’know?”

Mac laughed at that. He didn’t mean to - he didn’t want to make Dennis feel uncomfortable or dumb, but it really was very, very stupid.

“What?” Dennis snapped.

“A crush?”

“Yeah, like-”

“Dude, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids - you think that’s a crush?”

Dennis fell silent, “that long?”

“Yeah.” 

“Oh.”

If Mac was going to ruin everything, he was going to do it in style, “probably longer,” he said, hurriedly, “probably always. Before I met you. Before everything.”

“Don’t turn this into some God shit, man. Come on.”

“I’m not! I’m just saying-” he took a deep breath, “I’m just saying it runs deep.”

“Uh-huh?”

“So, yeah.”

They stood in silence for a moment, staring at each other. Dennis’ hand was shaking on the back of his neck, twitching almost in time with the dripping of the leaky tap behind him, making Mac flinch a little as it pierced the otherwise perfect stillness of the room.

He wondered how hard it was for Dennis to keep his hand there. Should he take a step back and let him breathe? Should he draw him in closer so he didn’t hold the sole responsibility for their closeness? Mac was suddenly a little overwhelmed.

He twisted his hands together, “well. Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“What now?”

Mac swallowed, mouth dry. He’d spent years fantasising about this moment - about finally getting through to Dennis like he just had, but he’d never thought about what he was supposed to do after.

He thought that, maybe, he was supposed to kiss him.

Past experience told him not to, of course; Dennis was funny about touch, and, despite the hand that was now twisting the hair on the back of his neck, he didn’t truly know whether Dennis would pull away if he did so much as reach out for him.

He was just sick of the waiting and the tightropes and the tiptoeing and he wanted to live! He wanted to kiss Dennis and be in love with him! He wanted to do this all in a way that didn’t involve metaphor or allusions or secrecy.

He was sick to fucking death of secrecy.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, spilling the last secret left within him, the one that had been rattling around inside him like a stone in his shoe, “I really want to kiss you man.”

Dennis swallowed, “Mac-”

“It’ll be just like the other times.”

In the years that they’d known each other, Mac and Dennis had kissed fifty two times. Mac had kept count - he’d even counted the times they’d kissed on the lips while they’d banged, though he wasn’t sure if that number was entirely accurate.

Fifty two sounded like a lot of times. For a relationship spanning over two decades, however, it was nothing.

“Do it.” Dennis said, voice strained.

“You’re sure?”

His hand spasmed on the back of Mac’s neck, nails scratching his skin a little, “I think so.”

That was as sure as Dennis got nowadays. When they’d been younger, he might’ve rolled his eyes, or nodded, smiling a little at the thought of not knowing exactly what he wanted.

Things had changed. Mac didn’t know exactly when it had happened - maybe it had been like a light switch, a lever that had been pulled the day he’d come out; or, maybe, it had been slow, like poison, like alcohol slowly pooling through his veins.

All he knew was that Dennis was different - not better or worse (Mac would never admit that Dennis had gotten worse.) Just different.

He wondered if he would kiss different, too.

“Here,” Mac said, reaching out to cup Dennis’ face. Even after all the changes and all the time between them, some things stayed the same. He remembered how to do this.

Dennis breathed in shakily, his face once again pale. It scared Mac to see him like that - it wasn’t like it was even that big of a deal; they were only kissing, not banging or getting married or jumping off a cliff.

In all fairness, it probably felt like one of those things to Dennis. Maybe it felt like all three of them at once.

“Do it,” he said, sounding more like he was staring down the barrel of a gun than a pair of lips, “please, just do it.”

“Relax, man, Jesus.”

And, then, he kissed him. He barely let their lips touch at first, hovering millimeters away from him, breathing close, waiting. It was a few moments, a long few moments, before Dennis kissed him back, pressing hesitantly against him.

A dam broke. Suddenly, everything felt  _ normal,  _ normal and safe and it was all Mac could do not to cry. He honestly wanted to pinch himself, or to push Dennis away and check his phone, just to make sure he hadn’t been transported ten years into the past.

He hadn’t realised until then. He hadn’t realised how badly he’d missed Dennis.

And then he pulled away.

The space between kissing and talking was always awkward. Mac found himself holding his breath, used to not knowing whether Dennis would smile or scowl or, worst of all, pretend that nothing had happened.

He did none of those things this time. There was this terrifying look on his face, shocked and scared and sick, like he’d bitten into something sickly sweet without realising.

“Sorry,” Mac said, automatically.

“Don’t be.”

“You-”

Dennis held a hand up, clearing his throat a little and turning back to the sink to fix his hair. Mac watched him in the mirror as he composed himself, forcing his face into a blank slate wiping any emotion from it. Seeing the process made his heart hurt.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mac.” He said.

Mac sighed, “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He echoed.

He held his breath as Dennis turned back around and brushed past him on his way to the door, not rudely, more like he needed an excuse to touch him.

“There are roses at the gas station,” he said, absently, “I like the red ones.”

Mac smiled at the back of his head, “gotcha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! <3 stay safe and wash ur hands


	7. open your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dennis had a lot of secrets - really, his whole life was just one big secret, an act put on for his own sake far more than for the sake of others. He collected the secrets like books or seashells, carelessly, without thinking of what he would do when he had too many and was inevitably overwhelmed by them all._
> 
> _One of these many, many secrets was this: he cared about Mac so much it burned him from the inside out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when did i last upload a fic, like, 3 days ago? time isn't real anymore <3
> 
> this was requested by 2 anons on tumblr! for the prompts "can you hear me?" and "open your eyes" (which is also where the title is from because im feeling lazy)
> 
> content warnings:
> 
> * mild injury / threat of injury

**02:12AM**

**On a Saturday**

**2009**

**Philadelphia, PA**

It looked like it was going to rain. The sky was bruised with clouds, the heavy kind that only really stood out at sunset, dark and purple and menacing. Dennis puffed bitterly at his cigarette as he craned his neck upwards, willing to look at anything but the scene before him. 

“Trust me, man, this is going to be bad _ass_.” Mac called over to him.

Dennis took another moody drag of his cigarette and said nothing.

He, Mac, and Charlie were all on the roof of Paddy’s. Not the very top of the building, but the small part that jutted out at the side, where he and Mac had recently made a habit of escaping to when they got bored of the gang during a shift.

Their shift was over. They weren’t escaping tonight. What pissed Dennis off the most was that he and Mac _could_ be halfway home by now - if they’d insisted on sneaking out when Dennis had suggested, they could even be in bed. 

But they weren’t. They were on the roof and Mac had a goddamn bicycle.

Dennis shivered and tugged his jacket tighter around his shoulders, glancing at Charlie. He was clearly loving this, holding the video camera up to his eye and grinning from ear to ear; there was no way he was going to talk Mac out of this.

Dennis really, _really_ wanted to talk Mac out of this.

Dennis had a lot of secrets - really, his whole life was just one big secret, an act put on for his own sake far more than for the sake of others. He collected the secrets like books or seashells, carelessly, without thinking of what he would do when he had too many and was inevitably overwhelmed by them all.

One of these many, many secrets was this: he cared about Mac so much it burned him from the inside out.

Sure, he pretended he didn’t give a shit. When Mac came crashing into their apartment at three in the morning, bruised and sore from some bar fight or botched stunt, Dennis always tried to be as far from sympathetic as possible. Mac didn’t want, deserve, or need that. Pitying him would only encourage his recklessness.

But Dennis cared _so_ fucking much. It was twisting him up, seeing Mac talk about the ridiculous stunt he was about to pull off. It was making his hands shake.

He dropped his cigarette and stamped it out.

Now, Mac and Charlie were peering over the edge of the roof, down at the ground below. Dennis couldn’t see from where he was standing, but he knew Mac’s knuckles were bone white against the concrete ledge.

The plan, as Dennis understood it, was that Mac was going to pop a wheelie right at the edge of the roof, showing off both his balancing skills and his ability to keep a cool head.

What Dennis also understood was that the plan wasn’t going to work. He knew for a fact that Mac couldn’t do a wheelie, that he’d never been able to do a wheelie. He had vivid memories of practicing bike tricks with the gang back in high school; Mac had been the only one of them unable to master the stunt, either falling flat on his ass or wobbling over sideways. 

At the time, it had been endearing. Now, the memory was making his head swim like bad weed.

“Can we hurry _up,_ please?” He whined, his voice coming out a little less commanding than he’d meant for it to be, but it didn’t matter; Mac turned around and blinked at him, his face half-obscured by his stupid helmet.

“Are you cold?” He asked.

“No!”

That was a lie - in fact, Dennis was shaking, the cool night air going right through his thin jacket.

From what Dennis could tell, Mac’s expression softened, “dude,” he said, “if you’re cold, you should-”

“Less talking, more wheelies, please!” Charlie cut in, camera still pressed up against his eye, “we wanna tape this shit before the battery dies!”

Dennis gritted his teeth, “we could do it another time.”

“Another time? Another- Dennis! Right here, we have peak environmental conditions for a roof wheelie: the air is dry, the wind is minimal, the-”

Crossing his arms, Dennis tuned Charlie out and glanced over at Mac. He was definitely nervous now, sneaking glances down at the pavement below as he absentmindedly picked at the handlebar of his bike. If Dennis wasn’t pissed off, the sight would have made him want to kiss him.

But he _was_ pissed off. So, he said, “okay, assholes, make it quick, though.” Before turning around and lighting another cigarette.

He listened carefully as Mac gave his usual spiel about being badass. The familiarity of it all calmed him a little; as much as he hated Mac _filming_ Project Badass, watching them back was always kind of fun. There was something relaxing about sitting next to Mac, alive and well, and pressing play on a video where he did some stupid stunt - like watching a horror movie you’d seen a million times before.

His calm lasted about five seconds, though, as it was followed by the unmistakable sounds of Mac mounting the bike, all clumsy and clunky. Mac had never learned to do anything with ease, it was like he was born to struggle. 

Dennis sighed and turned around.

He turned around just in time to see Mac plummet off the side of Paddy’s.

“Oh, shit!” Charlie yelled, rushing to the ledge.

It took Dennis a moment to register what had happened - one moment Mac had been there, arms windmilling, then the next he was gone and a sickening thump was ringing in Dennis’ ears.

He hesitated for what felt like far too long before bolting to Charlie’s side, eyes half-closed against what he was about to see. Part of him was sure he’d find Mac shattered into a million tiny pieces, like he was made of glass; or, worse, compacted into a bloody pulp. Dead, because Dennis hadn’t stopped him from doing something stupid.

It was a relief to see him relatively unharmed, spread-eagle on the ground with his bike a couple of meters away. It was less of a relief when Dennis realised his eyes were closed.

“What do we do?” He asked, turning to Charlie.

Charlie said nothing, but jumped from the roof in one swift motion, landing on his feet.

Truthfully, it wasn’t a big drop. Everyone in the gang, aside from Frank, had jumped it at least once - the worst injury any of them had ever gotten was Dennis’ twisted ankle, and, of course, he’d been stoned out of his mind at the time.

He followed Charlie off the side of the building, stomach plummeting as he made the short plunge. The impact of his feet against the pavement sent an unpleasant shock wave through him, making his teeth hurt, and he realised he’d never actually jumped off the roof sober. That explained a few things.

There was no time to think about that, though. He raced to where Charlie was bent over Mac, nudging him with his shoe and calling his name gently.

“I think we need to, like, get him to a hospital, man.” He said, in that calm way that often preceded a freakout.

“Is he breathing?” Dennis asked, less calm.

“I think so.”

Kneeling down, Dennis ripped the helmet from Mac’s head. He knew it was a bad idea, that he could hurt him if he’d damaged his back or neck, but he honestly didn’t give a shit about that right then - he needed to see his face, to see him breathe.

Mac’s hair was a mess, all tousled and sweaty and gross in that way that would normally either have Dennis kissing him or snapping at him to go take a shower, depending on his mood. Now, he focused his attention on Mac’s eyelids, seeing that they were moving ever so slightly. Thank God, he was at least semi-conscious.

“Mac?” He said, gently, shaking Mac’s shoulder, “can you hear me?”

“Dude, I think we should-”

Dennis held up his hand, silencing Charlie, “Mac? Open your eyes, c’mon, man.”

Dennis didn’t believe in God - he’d spent years making fun of how devout Mac was, of the way he always prayed before going to bed, even if he’d just been banging. But there was no denying that some kind of miracle must have taken place just then, because Mac opened his eyes.

“Mac?”

Mac blinked.

“Shit.” He said, “I bet that looked so badass.”

Dennis kissed him.

He didn’t think about it, of course he didn’t, he just leaned down and pressed his lips against Mac’s for a quick second, cradling his face in his hands. Dazed as he was, Mac kissed back, laughing quietly.

After a moment, Dennis felt Charlie’s eyes burning into the back of his head and he sat back up, patting Mac’s cheek in a way he hoped would seem platonic.

“Uh,” his mouth was suddenly dry, “you scared us, man.”

“Yeah,” Charlie thankfully seemed to have a little tact, and didn’t bring up what had just happened, “we thought you were gonna, like, die.”

Mac smiled, “me? Nah, dude, I’m tough as shit, see? I didn’t even break a bone!”

He _did_ seem fine. He sat up carefully, waving his arms around with ease, as though to demonstrate how unhurt he was. It made Dennis breathe a little easier to see him so animated, but it didn’t completely alleviate his fears - nightmare scenarios of untreated head trauma and internal bleeding began to bubble to the surface of his mind, making him squeeze Mac’s arm a little tighter than necessary.

“Can we go home now?” He asked, not even trying to hide how small his voice was.

Mac’s smile grew softer, “sure.”

Five minutes later and they’d said their goodbyes to Charlie, reassuring him, once again, that they would film the tape another day. 

It was warm in the Range Rover, at least. Dennis breathed a sigh of relief as the car began to fill with warm air - the adrenaline from the incident was already wearing off and he was shivering again, worse than before.

Mac was silent for a long time.

“You kissed me.” He said, eventually.

Shit. So they were going to talk about it. Dennis clenched his jaw and stared straight out into the road, “yes.”

“Why?”

Dennis didn’t get why it had to be a big deal - they kissed all the time nowadays; in fact, they’d made out in the back office half an hour before going up onto the roof. It wasn’t like it was a surprise or anything, it was just something they didn’t talk about.

“Uh,” he bit down on his tongue, “I don’t know, man.”

Glancing over at Mac, he saw something unexpected. He’d half-anticipated a frown, or that worried little look he always got when he thought too hard about his sexuality. But, no. He was smiling.

Dennis frowned “what?”

Mac’s smile got wider, “nothing.”

“What?”

“You were worried about me.”

“Of course I was, dumbass! You fell off a building!”

Mac didn’t stop smiling, “yeah.”

God, he was such an asshole.

“God, you’re such an asshole.” Dennis said, “you know that, right?”

“You love it, though.”

Dennis would never admit it, not in a million years, but he did. Maybe he didn’t love Mac - how could he love someone who left dirty laundry on the couch? Someone who didn’t replace the milk when it had gone bad? 

But, still, there was love on the peripheral of what he and Mac were, and that was enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love u all, stay safe x

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading! <3 catch me @ macdenniskiss on tumblr


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